the pink clouds move slow
slow like i was tricked by the years

gleaming over grass i walked
by feet
small in saturday's shoes

sharp patch grass and dirt that stuck to my back
replaced by the warmth of wood chips
familial love reflects off the set up sign
  swaying on the lawn

i feel its burn in my eyes

the ice cream man drives by
i guess the best flavor isn't in stock anymore

the sun keeps setting on my dreams to escape  
i already woke up from it all

I've embraced the idea that you don't care
You opened the door and a dog barked, i was there
I wondered if it was mad at me
But there I was, walking not on the street but sniffly on the sidewalk
I didn't see the car pass
It was if i had jumped forward in time and blacked out
And jumped with my feet but they never left that gravel
And as I stumbled along the doldrums
The silence was deafening
But the boat was not sinking
And neither was my resolve to pedal through
Looking for a warm wind
To catch my drift and lift me into a bend
I think my empty gaze scared that lady
But she evidently won't be scared tomorrow
Certainly not of a schoolboy like me
Which leaves my feet to be clumsy
Walking one over the other in a death march to-be

Would you still want a touch of a garment to Heaven, even if
it kills you? Ten thousand steps away from Heaven – I could be
on my nine hundred and ninety nineth step; but the question is
would I get in without an invitation?

Would you still fall asleep, even if you wound up resting right
next to death – given a limit to your air, would you start to count
your breaths? In the end, I hope my eyes pray whenever they blink,
and my heart silently repents for their lips "good" reputation.

I hear the eery songs of sirens; my own voices in my head – that
are acting like background singers and the Devil's ****** advice.
Do I feel alive doing the things that risk my own life; mixing
desires with passion – a bit of too much passion in my own desires.
Twelve speed racing to smile, but sometimes I despise being so
nice.

Sometimes I'm a world built on lies; sometimes I lie on top of those
years long gone – the grass that's greener on the other side, I just
want to enjoy the scent of that freshly cut lawn.

I pull up grass and feel guilty about it
I know it’s not bad.
So why can’t I stop?
The blade just keeps looking up at me
“Why did you do it again?”
“It hurts”

There’s scars on the yard from the last times
It’s fine.
I’ll water it when I feel better
So why can’t I stop?
The silver just keeps looking at me
“Why’d you do it again?”
“It hurt”

I pull up the grass and feel guilty about cuts
The lawn will grow back
I cover up my arms and legs
The ground is barren and mowed to dirt
So why can’t I stop?
The blade stares
“Again?”
“…”

By Arcassin B

Your melanin keeps me young and mines stimulate you.

Even though it's not the basis of our relationship,
Still need the sticky residue,
With you , explore the lows and the highs,
Want you to show me how you cry,
Wanna feel heaven just when we combine,

I want the honey , the birds , the bees , the grass,
The trees , chocolate cookies , I need them in my life,
I want ya' smile , ya' smell , ya'head , ya' toes,
You love it and it shows,
Maybe I want you as a wife.
🐝
full link below<<<< copypaste
🥶

Too many people take
The shortcut home; the one to make
Your journey
No more than thirty
Seconds shorter. It may
Be dirt now, your everyday
Pathway,
But I’d just like to
Bring you
To the past,
When this path was still grass.
When the lawn was green
And lush,
Before people’s needs to rush
Became more
Important than the lives on the floor.
Maybe if you just took
A look
On the ground,
Then around
You for another road,
Then the grass wouldn’t have the load,
The weight of your body on them
Once you step upon them.
Make a pass
On the grass.
Take a different path
To avoid the plant’s bloodbath.

Between the blacks of bending trees
I meet the moon at in betweens
I glimpse her glories, wild and worn
Aglow atop a stirring storm

Oh breathing birches blown about
Beneath her silver silence
Beyond the fields I farthest see
Along the dark horizon

There the hymns of heavy winds
Beyond the blown and gloomy leas
Where ghostly grass and rushing reeds
Dance darkly 'round my falling feet

Singing by the wayside
Bellowing in the trees
Lovely like a turtle dove
Lives my hopes and dreams

Far away in the mountains
Buried in a box
My hopes and dreams lie dormant
Gated by the locks

Singing hallelujah
To the once gorgeous mural
Can't distinguish paintings
From extreme peril

But the hopes are beautiful like oceans
And they look like stained glass
And although they might be oblivious
They smell like cut grass

Emerson and Fuller,
Thoreau and Whitman,
Again and again, it has been written:
Nothing ever ends, death is no
Impasse;
So when you’re gone we’ll look for you,
In our Leaves Of Grass.